


Tying up loose ends

by OrphanText



Series: Postponing Happiness [1]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Frottage, Getting Back Together, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kudou brings Hakuba an unexpected gift from Japan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tying up loose ends

**Author's Note:**

> (My bad habit is in understating everything. Doing my part to contribute to the HakuKai side of fandom, because they're both babies I can bully.)
> 
> Originally intended as a little bit of R18 practice. Eventually I was struck by inspiration in the shower to expand on this and turn this into a series, because more pining/emotionally confused Hakuba pleases me. (You can probably tell where I have dropped the expansion in)
> 
> Un-betaed.
> 
> In the next installation of the series, we will revisit their high school days + airport scene. 
> 
> First part of two.

“Look what I brought you,” is the first thing Kudou says to him when he arrives in Heathrow to pick him up.

Hakuba leans to the side to peer behind the detective, then levels an incredulous stare at Kudou. His friend’s idea of a gift is terrible, and -

“Yo, Hakuba!” Kuroba waves at him cheerfully, completely oblivious to how much Hakuba is hoping that aliens might come by to abduct his ex-highschool classmate away. “It’s been a long time.”

Saying that it’s been a long time is an understatement - they haven’t seen or been in contact with each other ever since Hakuba’s moved back to London in the middle of his final year of highschool. Then KID had called it quits a year after Kuroba’s graduation from university, and Hakuba no longer had a reason to hound his classmate’s alter-ego, no reason whatsoever to want to get in touch with Kuroba whatsoever, so Kuroba’s sudden unannounced return into his life is… disconcerting.

“What’s the return policy?” Hakuba says instead, to a loud, unhappy protest from Kuroba.

Some things just don’t change.

::

“I’ll just get a hotel room,” Kudou says dismissively, Kuroba firing off one instagram post after another on his phone next to him in the backseat of his car. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You won’t be,” Hakuba says, trying his level best to convey to Kudou through the rearview mirror exactly how much he doesn’t want to be alone with Kuroba as a guest in his house. “Kudou, I can’t possibly let you stay in a hotel when I have so many guest rooms over at mine.”

“Kuroba can stay with you,” Kudou says (heartlessly, in Hakuba’s opinion). “I’m opting for a hotel because there is something I want to look into while I’m here. Besides, a hotel room will guarantee me at least some sort of privacy.”

_ What about my privacy? _ Hakuba despairs.

“Hey, maybe there’ll be a murder at your hotel,” Kuroba sits up, jostling Kudou with an elbow as Hakuba watches from the back view mirror. “Just like when you were in New York.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Kudou grumbles, pushing him away neatly with a well placed elbow.

“Maybe the cook did it. Did you hear about the case where the victim was cooked into a pot of curry? Okay, not jinxing anything.” Kaito squawks when Kudou grinds his knuckles into the crown of his head, and swats him away, whining.

Their familiarity with each other speaks of an acquaintance of more than a year, but he’s never heard Kudou mention Kuroba before. It’s an interesting, but not unwelcome development. Ever since KID has quit the scene, Kuroba has quickly established himself as a magician, competing in world championships and quickly rising to the fore as one of Japan’s most celebrated magicians. Hakuba has kept track of his whereabouts and the general gossip about Kuroba through the newspaper and other tabloids, but had never sought for more.

Kuroba, on the other hand, had given him just the one missed call a month before the take down of one of Japan’s most prominent criminal organization. They were both in their second year of university then. Hakuba hadn’t answered, because he had left his phone on silent for a double homicide case he was in the middle of. When he had tried to call back, none of his calls got through, instead going straight into voicemail, and after two days, Hakuba was forced to give up.

When the takedown had been on the headline news, Hakuba had tried calling him once more, the news continuing to remain on the front page for a week, but Kuroba didn’t pick up, either.

It was reasonable to assume from that point on that Kuroba did not want anything to do with him whatsoever. With the annihilation of the criminal organisation, their relationship with each other  is pared down to bone as mere classmates for an antagonistic few years, and Hakuba will not go where he is unwelcome.

Now, Kuroba’s has stepped back into his life as though he had never left, still the chirpy little trickster Hakuba’s known him as, and Hakuba doesn’t know what to think of it.

He doesn’t know what to say to someone who has been absent in each other’s life for so many years, to someone whom he doesn’t know if he can still rightly call a friend. Silence, he decides, is by far the safer option.

::

“Hey, nice digs.”

Beside him, Kuroba gives a low whistle of appreciation as Hakuba moves his luggage from the car up to his house, trailing after him. His house isn’t anything spectacular, although Baaya does keep the garden in immaculate manner. It just has more empty guest rooms than he really needs, what with the little amount of visitors and guests he entertains, if any.

“Young master, welcome back,” his housekeeper greets him at the door, and he quickly intercepts her before she could reach for Kuroba’s luggage. “And who may this be?”

“Allow me to introduce you - Margaret, this is Kuroba Kaito, an old classmate from school when I used to study in Japan. Kuroba, this is my Margaret, my housekeeper.”

“Please to meet you, Margaret. I’m sorry for the trouble that I will cause you.” Kuroba bows, and produces a flower from his hand with a snap of his fingers. Over the years, he has only gotten a little more charming, a little more flashy, and Hakuba shakes his head at the display, opting to carry the luggage up to the guest room. “Call me Kaito, please.”

“Then in return, call me Maggie,” comes the pleased reply, and Hakuba doesn’t pause in climbing the stairs to roll his eyes at how easily Kuroba has won his housekeeper over.

Just for that, he settles Kuroba in the room furthest from his own, leaving his travel bags on the bed and setting out the toiletries in the bathroom in case Kuroba hasn’t brought his own.

While Kuroba was still busy talking to Maggie downstairs, Hakuba digs out his phone to type a quick text to Kudou.

_ Why have you brought him along? _

_ Don’t you want to meet your old classmate? _

_ If I wanted to meet my old classmates, I would have gone for the reunion in April. _

_ Well, he wants to see you very much. _

He doesn’t know what to say to that, too, so he tucks his phone away and heads downstairs.

::

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a world tour?”

Kuroba pauses from where he’s rearranging Hakuba’s collection of books, childishly reshelving them out of the order that Hakuba had arranged them in. The infernal ex-thief had slipped into Hakuba’s room after dinner, just as he was settling in for his customary evening reading. The tips of Kuroba’s hair are still damp from his shower, and he smells faintly of cinnamon. Hakuba had given him a dour look, but did not say a thing as Kuroba made himself comfortable in his bedroom and began molesting his bookshelf and various other belongings.

“Are you still stalking me, Hakuba?” Kuroba turns to lean against the side of the shelf, running fingers down the spine of a file where Hakuba keeps all of his information about Kuroba, post syndicate takedown. “That’s flattering. But also creepy, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Hakuba only scoffs, reaching for his mug of tea while turning a page on the copy of National Geographic that he isn’t really reading. “I wouldn’t call it ‘stalking’. You’re Japan’s number one magician, Kuroba, on your fifth world tour, the last tour held in Incheon, South Korea. It’s all over the papers and my twitter feed. What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t take a break? My manager rescheduled, so I have some free time on my hands. Kudou invited me, and I wanted to see how you were holding up lately. Still very much occupying the front page, I see.”

“Not as much as you did, I assure you. Then again, you had practice.”

“‘m not Kid,” comes the sullen reply, the magician crossing his arms before him and looking away. “Come off it, Hakuba. It’s been years.”

Hakuba rubs at the thin page of the magazine between his fingers, gazing down at a glossy photo of a volcano that he isn’t really seeing. It takes a while for him to dislodge the lump is sticking in his throat, swallowing back the formless words that crowd onto his tongue. Any attempt to explain away the years of silence will only come across as a flimsy excuse, the window for tying up this particular loose end long gone. Kuroba unfolds his arm, and crosses the room to sprawl onto Hakuba’s bed, lying part way over his legs like an overgrown cat with zero respect and care for personal boundaries.

“Kuroba,” Hakuba hisses, pulling his legs back, because he, at least, has a sense of propriety. “Get off.”

“I’m glad it didn’t stick,” Kuroba says, words coming out in a rush of air, a hand clamping down on his bare ankle. “The scandal case from April. They were trying to frame you for murder.”

Momentarily wordless, Hakuba can only watch when Kuroba leans down to pillow his head on his thigh. “So it’s spread to Japan, too,” he manages.

“Only just a little. I’ve been following your cases, and Kudou keeps me in the know. I was - “ Kuroba’s gaze shifts to the ceiling. “Worried.”

The case had been a great source of stress from Hakuba, the vultures of the press and media out for his blood, spinning tales to send the public into a tizzy over the gruesome homicide cases. It had been a close call, even for him, and he had been banned from the case, having to attend numerous court hearings, with nothing to go off on and with a shaky alibi on his side. It had been difficult, being kept out of the loop on the case’s progress, his friends treading eggshells around him while investigations was still ongoing. He had taken to staying home, with only Maggie and Watson for company, and long distance calls from both Kudou and his parents to tide him through the times.

“I wanted to fly over when I heard of the news,” Kuroba confessed to the ceiling. “But I didn’t know if you would have taken it well. I didn’t want to cause you more undue stress.”

“You were in the middle of preparation for FISM,” Hakuba manages weakly. “Besides, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“There was the possibility of it not working out, and you didn’t have anyone with you.”

“Contrary to your beliefs, I do have friends, Kuroba.”

“Yes, and all of them are law enforcement officers. None of whom would want to touch that particular case with a ten foot pole, what with your involvement as a primary suspect without putting their jobs on the line. My source is Kudou, if you want to know.”

That tattle tale. Kuroba is watching him, dark eyes serious, a hand tracing idle patterns over his bed sheets. “I’m touched that you still keep track of my schedules, Hakuba. Did you watch my win?”

“Youtube, only three days after. I  _ am _ half-Japanese, after all,” Hakuba clears his throat, trying to go back to his magazine when Kuroba plucks it out of his hands and sets it on the side table. “What now?”

Kuroba doesn’t answer him immediately, blinking up at him slowly, clearly coming to some kind of decision in his head. Hakuba tenses, prepares for a great many things, but it is certainly not what Kuroba says next -

“Can I suck your cock?”

He says it in such a nonchalant manner that the words don’t register immediately, and when they do, Hakuba scrambles to sit up, face heating up. “ _ What _ ?”

“You heard me. I want. To suck. Your cock.” Kuroba gets onto his elbows, bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.

“This isn’t funny - “

“I’m being serious.” The look in Kuroba’s eyes draws him up short. “You can say no. But I’m hoping that you won’t.”

“If you’re just looking for a lay… “

“I assure you, you won’t be ‘just’ a lay.” Kuroba’s hand is a hot vice around his ankle. “Say something, Hakuba, or I’m going to take your silence as a consent.”

Hakuba stares, feeling as though his face is on fire and that his heart has relocated up into his throat. How Kuroba always manages to make him feel wrong-footed, even after all these years, is a mystery. “You’re… very forward,” he chokes.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Kuroba sighs, fingers sweeping up over Hakuba’s calf. “Is that a yes?”

The look Kuroba has on reminds him of the same one that he wore, when Hakuba had looked back while passing through into departures, and Kuroba had stood alone, a singular rose poorly hidden behind his back. He’d shown up at the airport, despite Hakuba keeping his permanent return to London under wraps. The silence between them then had been awkward and stilted, each refusing to look into the other’s eyes. Kuroba has on a coy smile now, but the look in his eyes remains the same.

At his slight nod, still feeling like he is about to spontaneously combust, Kuroba relaxes into a wide, cheerful grin. “Fantastic. Don’t change your mind, be back in ten seconds.”

The door slams behind Kuroba, and Hakuba buries his face in his hands, trying not to imagine the deep shite that he is now.

::

“Why are you applying balm for this?”

“Have you ever had your cock sucked by someone with chapped lips before?” Kuroba returns cheekily, propped up on his elbows in the V of Hakuba’s legs. He had left for exactly ten seconds, as promised, returning with a small tin of something that he applies liberally to his lips. Hakuba’s pyjamas pants are gone, Kuroba having somehow vanished them off him the moment he got back into bed, and he’s just leaning down to nose at a milky pale thigh when Hakuba reaches down to stop him by cupping his chin.

“And you have?” Hakuba asks, aware of how tense he is, sounding entirely too serious for the occasion. Kuroba is forced to look up, an unspoken question on his lips, before his brief confusion is replaced entirely by mischief. Kuroba is evidently amused by something that is privy only to him, and it prompts Hakuba to narrow his eyes, immediately shifting to get up, but Kuroba touches a hand to his knee and keeps him pinned with the barest effort of that touch and the sheer intensity of his eyes alone.

“Are you jealous?” Kuroba covers Hakuba’s hand with his right, turning his face inwards to press a kiss onto his palm, that infuriating smile still playing on his lips.

“You’re not answering my question.” He feels the oily smear of whatever Kuroba’s applied on his lips on his palm, and resists the urge to wipe his hand on Kuroba’s thin cotton shirt, or his bedsheets.

“You  _ are _ jealous,” Kuroba says wonderingly, leaning in closer as Hakuba’s face heats with embarrassment. It still grates on him, how easily Kuroba can make him feel ridiculous and awkward and stupid with nothing but his words and those eyes and his  _ smile _ , and he wants to do nothing but to hide away where those eyes cannot see him or mock him, coming out only when he’s sure the mask Kuroba’s managed to peel away is firmly back in place again.

Before he can act on it, however, Kuroba has gotten up onto his knees, pressing closer and forcing Hakuba backwards onto his pillows with his weight, and there’s the tickle of hair on his cheek before Kuroba is pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Indigo eyes twinkle at him playfully when he pulls away, and Kuroba tilts his head as though to ask him how he is finding the chaste kiss.

“You’re cute,” Kuroba says - unexpectedly - and Hakuba jerks back when he leans in again, a hand smoothing his fringe back from his forehead as he presses another kiss reverently to his brow. “I didn’t think you would… well. It wasn’t anything serious. You don’t have to be jealous.”

“Is that before or after they learn that you’re Japan’s number one magician?” Hakuba cannot stop himself from sounding bitter and more than he can keep himself free of Kuroba’s gravitational pull, but the magician looks far from offended.

“I don’t think anyone cares about who I am when they’re drunk.  _ I _ certainly don’t.” Kuroba’s lips curve gently in a wry smile. “Surely you’ve done it yourself, Hakuba? When you’re old enough for sex? It’s bars for me, if you wanna know. Never really cared who, so long as we don’t remember each other in the morning.”

Hakuba stares at Kuroba, who doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed about the information he’s just shared, instead draping himself liberally over Hakuba with his head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. “Or maybe you haven’t. That’s a little too sad,” Kuroba was still saying, thoughtfully. “I know you. You shouldn’t be alone. You should get a line of pretty girls - or boys, if you like boys. And a nice, stable relationship for as long as it lasts and move on cleanly to the next one. Oh - can I get back to sucking your cock now?”

“Kuroba. Hey.” Hakuba tries to shift Kuroba’s head off of his shoulder, so that he would sit up and look at him properly. “Kuroba. Are you drunk?”

“I’ve had a shot of the bottle of scotch you’ve left sitting out on your side table. Why?”

“I - you - “ He peels a clingy, reluctant Kuroba off of him, the magician protesting quietly. “I don’t think you’re in the best state of mind right now. Perhaps you should retire for the night.”

“I don’t need to be in any state of mind to suck your cock,” Kuroba says petulantly, and Hakuba has to catch a hold of the hand sneakily trying to push into his boxers.

“Perhaps I should phrase it another way. I don’t want you sucking my cock when you’re drunk and maudlin.” That gets Kuroba’s attention, and he lifts his gaze to his eyes again, before he smiles, slowly, pleased.

“Are you concerned for me?” Hakuba swallows at the pointed heat in Kuroba’s eyes, eyes darting down to Kuroba’s lips, and back up again when Kuroba leans in closer. “Very touching… but unnecessary.”

He swallows whatever protests Hakuba has to voice with his lips, a hand on the back of his head to pull him closer as he attempts to deepen the kiss, slow and possessive at once as he traces the seam of Hakuba’s lips with his tongue.

“A shot of scotch isn’t enough addle my mind,” Kuroba murmurs, when he finally lets go of Hakuba. He’s - giddy, but it isn’t a bad sensation, not when it feels like he could free fall off a precipice to be caught by the ocean, and knowing that all he needed to do was to take the plunge. “Say yes?”

Hakuba swallows, throat working dry. “But I want you to remember me in the morning.”

Kuroba draws back, a quiet surprise in the slight widening of his eyes and the parting of his lips, before it is wiped away with a wistful smile. Gentle hands slide into his hair, and then Kuroba is peppering kisses along the line of his jaw, the tip of his nose cold against his skin. “You never have to worry about that,” Kuroba breath tickles over his collarbone. “You are the one person I can never forget.”

His lips are curved in a soft, shy smile when Hakuba turns his head to look at him, and when Hakuba doesn’t say anything, he takes his silence as consent, leaning in slowly until the purple of Kuroba’s eyes are all he sees, and then they’re kissing with their hands tangled in each other’s.

It starts out slow, lips and tongue and hot breath, a gentle exploration of each other’s boundaries before Kuroba tilts his head, and deepens the kiss, guiding Hakuba’s hands to his hips. Kuroba’s kissing as though he wants to steal the air from Hakuba’s lungs, taking sipping kisses from his lips with a quiet urgency now that he has Hakuba’s permission, a soft sound of desperation in his throat that prompts Hakuba to hold him close. He slows when Hakuba makes broad, slow strokes from the back of his neck down the curve of his spine, though Hakuba can feel his fingertips trembling minutely against his cheeks. There is the scent of rose and lavender, and Hakuba licks it off his lips, the butter that Kuroba’s applied to his lips apparently flavourless. Kuroba is pulling in short, stuttering breaths, eyes fluttering close when Hakuba brushes lips over his again.

“Kuroba… “

Kuroba ducks his head as he huffs with quiet laughter, resting his forehead on Hakuba’s shoulder. “Sorry. I promised you a blowjob, didn’t I? I’ll get right to that. Just lie there and enjoy the show.”

The last line Kuroba speaks in impeccable English, a hand on Hakuba’s chest in instruction, shuffling backwards on his knees to unbutton the last few buttons of Hakuba’s shirt, rucking it up over his belly and running his hands greedily over the exposed skin while Hakuba props himself up on his elbows, licking at his lips nervously.

“It’s not - a show,” Hakuba begins, before Kuroba palms him through his boxers, and he abruptly forgets his protests.

“ _ Relax _ ,” Kuroba tells him, laughter in his eyes, hand hot even through the fabric of his pants.

Their gazes hold, even when Kuroba prompts him to lift his hips, and he does so obediently so that Kuroba can slide his pants off of him. Kuroba’s pupils are blown wide, and Hakuba swallows when Kuroba breaks away to look down, running an eloquent hand over the curve of his cock.

“Look,” Hakuba swallows again, throat desert dry, skin tingling. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Stop thinking so much,” Kuroba admonishes, and scatters Hakuba’s thoughts easily by stroking him firmly from root to crown, laughing when Hakuba’s knee jerks slightly in response. “Don’t knee me. I can’t wait to get you in my mouth to see your reactions.”

The tin of scented lubricant cum body butter appears in Kuroba’s hand again with a flourish, and Kuroba pushes back to apply the butter liberally to his lips as Hakuba watches on curiously.

“I have a lemongrass and ginseng butter that makes it tingly, if you’re interested,” Kuroba winks as he tosses the tin aside. Before Hakuba can say a thing, Kuroba aims a sunny smile at him, sprite bright, and dips his head to lick a hot, wet stripe from base to tip.

It’s - startling. Kuroba chuckles when his head falls back onto the pillows, bathing his cock in eager kitten licks, flicking his tip of his tongue beneath the crown experimentally just to have Hakuba hiss, electricity sparking down to his toes from the sensitivity. He squirms, when Kuroba drags the flat of his tongue over him, and watches as Kuroba wraps soft lips around him, tongue hot and dark and teasing.

There is a moment of stillness, Kuroba simply holding the length of him in his mouth - just a mouthful, mind - eyes closed as he savours the salt and the weight of him on his tongue, and the sight of it has Hakuba’s heart skipping a beat. There is something obscene, something extremely voyeuristic about watching Kuroba taking his pleasure from him, as though he is only incidental to it. Kuroba is open and generous about it, making small, pleased sounds around his flesh, eyes dark and liquid with heat when he opens them to glance upwards at Hakuba as he takes slow, lazy pulls of his cock. It’s unhurried, languid like sitting in water just a degree higher than body temperature, pleasure curling up warm and snug at the base of his spine.

When Kuroba pulls off, his lips are a cherry red, a splotchy flush in his cheeks. He giggles when Hakuba’s cock bumps at his cheek, turning to mouth at him and allowing Hakuba to paint bitter precome over his bottom lip. Hakuba licks at his own lips, entranced, and widens his eyes when Kuroba swallows him whole effortlessly to the back of his throat, Kuroba’s nose pushing up against his pubic hair. Hakuba presses a hand to his mouth as his whimpers, only for Kuroba to draw it away with a minute shake of his head, a hungry interest in his eyes before he tilts his head, the slight bulge of Hakuba’s cock distorting the line of his cheek.

Kuroba guides Hakuba’s hand to cup his cheek, fitting palm over the slight bulge, humming quietly as trembling fingertips brush over his cheek, his ear, the tips of his hair. Hakuba doesn’t dare to speak - too afraid of breaking the moment or of saying the wrong thing, and barely registers it when the pleasure crests and he spills unbidden, streaking Kuroba’s lips and face with come. He doesn’t seem to mind, but Hakuba certainly does, groaning in hot shame at the sight - at how much the sight of it actually does send his thoughts fizzing away again.

He’s boneless, limp and sated and gulping for air when Kuroba looks at him with fever bright eyes, something tender and gentle in the nuances of him.

“Hakuba,” he says, and his voice is thick, like honey, slightly raspy, and Hakuba thinks that it is possible to be drunk on the sound of it. “Hakuba. Can I ride your thigh? Please?”

There’s a slim hand lying delicately over the knob of his knee, and Hakuba swallows against the thrum of anticipation that the idea sends through him, reaching behind him to shove the pillows back against the headboard so that he may better sit up. Kuroba sighs when Hakuba traces over the bridge of his nose, tongue darting out to lick at the pad of a finger when it presses to his lips.

“Let me put on something, first,” Hakuba manages.

Kuroba eyes burn into him as he putters about pulling on a pair of loose cotton pants, keeping his hands loose in his lap. His feet, however, tell a vastly different story, curling and digging into his bedsheets beneath him as he shifts restlessly from time to time to relieve the pressure his jeans must be putting on him. Because he still has streaks of come on his face and hair, Hakuba takes a last lingering look at Kuroba, before disappearing into the en suite bathroom and returning with a warm damp cloth.

“What, you don’t like it?” Kuroba turns his face upwards obediently for him as he gently wipes off the obscene indecency, Hakuba trying very hard not to think about how fucked he is at the trusting way Kuroba is leaning into his touch, almost demure and affectionate in his hands. He stoops down to press a kiss to his brow before he can think better of it, lingering. When Kuroba looks at him again, his eyes are stormy, a quiet, complicated, tangle of pulsing emotions that Hakuba thinks could drown a man in their unsuspecting depths. “Usually does something for most people,” Kuroba whispers.

“It did. I hope you’re proud,” Hakuba coughs. “But I - you - I shouldn’t have.” He gestures inarticulately, before letting his hand fall back to his side.

“Why? If it pleases you, it pleases me.“ Kuroba lists over to the side until he falls sideways onto the bed, stretching out and lifting his hips into the air shamelessly. “Come back to bed. I still want to ride you.”

Hakuba goes without a word or thought of protest, taking the hand that Kaito extends to him, and allows himself to be drawn back to bed. Kuroba shimmies out of his jeans before straddling Hakuba’s thigh, grinning down at him. “It feels better if you’re wearing jeans, but I’m pretty sure I can get off this way too.”

He grinds downwards on Hakuba’s thigh, a slow rocking rhythm of heat and friction that rucks the fabric of his pants up. Kuroba’s hand sneaks up to his own nipples, pinching and teasing as he lets his head fall back, moaning darkly as he scratches blunt nails across his nipple through the fabric. The thighs beneath his hands are strong, muscles flexing as Kuroba moves, hands guiding his own to his back, Kuroba arching as Hakuba pulls him closer.

Kuroba’s panting now, quietly, ragged intakes of air as his hips stutter in their rocking, and Hakuba rubs circles over his lower back, coaxing him and urging him on before pressing upwards, eliciting a breathless gasp from Kuroba as he drives him higher, closer, just a little harder. He  _ wants _ , and that is a frightening thought to have, but all he wants for now is to watch Kuroba get off on him - wants Kuroba to get off,  _ because _ of him.

Kuroba’s openly moaning now, hips losing their previous rhythm as he ruts against Hakuba, mouth slack and brow furrowing as he seeks for release, arms looping around him as he tightens fingers in his shirt. There is a hot flare of jealousy at the thought that someone - someone that isn’t him - has probably seen Kuroba like this, open and generous and unashamed with his own desire and need. It’s irrational, because he doesn’t own Kuroba, but the man that he is - has become - is still a puzzle, and Hakuba still wants to document every little thing about him, filing it away in his brain to run through over and over again, though for vastly different reasons than he’s had in the past.

In his arms, Kuroba makes a guttural sound, shuddering and shaking apart as he comes in his own pants, hands pulling uncomfortably at Hakuba’s shirt, and Hakuba rocks upwards just to hear the startled, helpless cry that Kuroba issues at the friction against his sensitive cock. His dark lashes are glimmering wetly, and Hakuba’s blood boils at the sight.

He leaves Kuroba boneless and spent in his bed while he slips off to retrieve another wet cloth to clean him up with. Kuroba has curled up on his side when Hakuba returns, arms around a plump pillow, and Hakuba thinks he’s somehow fallen asleep in the few seconds he’s been away when there’s a distinct wet sniffle, and Hakuba realises that Kuroba’s  _ crying _ . Concern floods him immediately, along with a cold slice of fear that he’s said or done something that he shouldn’t have.

“Hey,” Hakuba touches a hesitant hand to a shoulder, drawn up in abject misery as Kuroba snuffles into his stolen pillow. “Kuroba, what’s - what’s wrong?”

“What?” Kuroba lifts his head from the pillow, eyes wide and wet and vulnerable. “What? Oh, this. It’s nothing, just hormones.” A hand comes up to scrub at the tears quickly, Kuroba looked vaguely embarrassed as he buries his face into the pillow again. “It happens occasionally. S’not you. Is that for me?”

Hakuba offers him the towel mutely, but Kuroba only drops it to the side, arms coming up to pull him down over onto the bed.

“You can’t be comfortable,” Hakuba murmurs as Kuroba arranges him as he pleases, snuggling into his arms with a pleased sound.

“I’ll take a shower later,” Kuroba assures him, the tips of his hair tickling at Hakuba’s chin. “Try a little romantic, Hakuba.”

“There’s - no romance,” Hakuba points out hesitatingly, even though his own stance on the matter has just been upset, struggling to find footing on a slippery slope. “Between us.”

“And isn’t that a pity,” Kuroba sighs into his collarbones, and then chuckles. “Kidding. Now shut up for a moment, I want to enjoy this while I can.”

Obediently, Hakuba keeps his mouth shut, before closing his eyes as well. There will be more time to think about it later, when they’ve woken from their nap. With this thought firmly in mind, Hakuba holds Kuroba a little closer, and allows his steady breathing to lull him into sleep.

::

When he wakes up, the spot on his bed next to him is cold and empty, and his phone is going off incessantly. 

“Hakuba speaking,” he says curtly as he flips open the phone, already dragging on a clean shirt and a new pair of pants.

“Kuroba’s on the way to Heathrow, in case you are wondering,” Kudou says immediately, words coming out in a rush. “BA0574 for Milan. You might still catch him if you hurry.”

“He told me he was on a break from his world tour,” Hakuba pulls on his socks, dragging a wet comb through his hair and grabbing his belongings before dashing out his front door. “That filthy little  _ liar _ .”

“Technically, he is having a break from his world tour. Escaped his manager for a day for a brief London trip. Do you suppose this is what they call romance these days?”

“Kudou.” Hakuba feels a grin pulling at his lips despite the irritation that he is beginning to feel towards the detective of the East. “You’re not being funny.”

“Was I trying to be? Hmm.”

“Kuroba’s rubbing off on you. The bad way. Call you when I find him, ta.” He ends the call on Kudou’s laughter from the other end, shrugging on a jacket. London traffic is abysmal at best, and he skips the car over for the motorcycle, jamming his helmet on and turning on the ignition. With luck, Kuroba will still be at the airport - if he somehow manages to find that little trickster amongst the hoard of people in the airport, that is. If he does -  _ when _ he does, he is going to have a firm word with him.

Apparently Lady Luck is favouring him instead of Kuroba today, the magician still milling around in front of departure gate with a canvas travel bag slung on his shoulders and texting away on his phone. He’s wearing a pair of black rimmed spectacles, and Hakuba nearly overlooks him had he not also seen the little clover charm dangling from his phone.

Kuroba yelps when he grabs onto him, a rather satisfactory sound to hear at this point after braving the congestion of traffic and waking up to an empty bed knowing your …  _ whoever _ had just slipped off without a single word.

“ _ You _ ,” Hakuba all but growls.

“Me,” Kuroba says, his surprise lasting all of a moment before it is replaced by the familiar self-assuredness that he has. “Did I leave something behind?”

“Yes,” Hakuba says, and Kuroba’s hands immediately goes to his pockets. “ _ Me _ .”

He smirks, as Kuroba’s expression wavers, and then the usually unflappable magician flushes a bright red. He’s still wearing his jeans from yesterday, Hakuba notices with no little amount of affection.

“Uhm,” Kuroba says, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “Well. Have you heard of the concept of casual sex?”

A woman nearby snaps her head upwards to give them a scandalous look, before ushering her son away, but Hakuba doesn’t care, not even when the immigration security gives them a odd look. “Don’t play me for a fool, Kuroba. If you want last night to be casual, then fine, I don’t see why not. But  _ we _ \- “ he pokes a finger hard into his shoulder. “Have things to sort out.”

“Uhm,” Kuroba says again.

Hakuba studies his face, then lets go of his shoulders, stepping back. “Go to Milan, Kuroba. I’ll catch you in Washington. Isn’t there something that you wanted to say to me, back when you skipped school to send me off from Haneda?” At Kuroba’s wide-eyed look, he pulls out a single red rose from behind his back, and offers the bloom to him.

“That was… years ago,” Kuroba says lamely, looking at the rose as though it might bite. “Things change.” Then, “You remember.”

“My perspective sure has,” Hakuba agrees, and smiles when Kuroba takes the flower from him, tucking it carefully behind his ear. “I’m sorry. For the long silence.”

It prompts a small smile from Kuroba, fingers caressing the soft petals of the rose. “It’s alright. I forgive you. We wouldn’t have known what to say, either way.”

It’s an excuse, but Hakuba lets it slide, watching Kuroba go through departures, the magician only giving him a wondering backward glance before disappearing off to go through security. 

There are three weeks to Kuroba’s performance in Washington, and Hakuba is sure that he will be able to sort his own emotions out by then, discarding the old for the new. Whatever it is, it feels as though he’s tying off a loose end he’s left hanging for years, discovering the answer to a question that he’s never had the courage to ponder. It’s - freeing, Hakuba decides. He just might get used to it - to being impossibly in love, if that is what this could lead to.

His phone buzzes with a single text.

_ Congratulations on getting over yourself _ \- Kudou Shinichi

That piece of  _ shit _ .

Ⓧ

**Author's Note:**

> 好，交给班长了。睡觉去


End file.
